The Long Way To Reno (34 page)

I
hauled myself through the window, over my desk – there were a stack of
game cases at the edge, and a few guides that fell to the floor as I climbed
in. My room brought intense feelings to me as I steadied myself and became
aware of the heavy silence and stillness within. I wanted to call out to my
parents, but my voice wasn’t working – that lump was burning so badly
that I couldn’t do a thing to dislodge it.

I
walked past some high heels and a leopard print dress I’d worn to Brew Brothers
the weekend before I’d gone to work. My bed was unmade, my closet door open
– I could still smell the body spray I’d used before leaving this room,
and that must’ve been a hallucination of sorts. But my eyes found my dresser
top before my flashlight did, and I spotted the spray sitting there at the
edge, surrounded by dust and frost. Just beyond that item were other personal
things that stood out – my first name carved into a wooden block, a gift
from my ex, pictures of friends and special moments in my life that included my
parents, tickets from a show at the Knitting Factory.

I
heard absolutely nothing in the house. It was cold…it was silent…it was dark. I
was the only person in this house. This was something I knew at the back of my
mind, but I couldn’t accept it.

I
ventured towards the hallway, where the smell hit me. But I refused to
acknowledge it, because my mind wasn’t working the way it should be. I think at
that point, something turned off in me –my body moved independently, away
from my mind, and I was walking towards my parents’ room, where the smell was
more prominent.

I
didn’t have to worry about bumping into anything, or even bother with the
flashlight that was held limply in one hand. My feet knew where to go, and my
body knew how to turn around the old vintage dresser that they used. The smell
made me cough.

The
bed was made, the pillows indicating nothing of their heads – the
bedspread was a Pendleton that my mom had bought downtown, when the
Oregon-based wool company was still located on the first floor of the bowling
stadium. Their end tables, holding odds and ends of their presence, had the
same dust and frost appearance as my room did. Only mom’s had a Cosmo magazine,
and dad’s badge and wallet stood on the edge of his.

I
coughed again, unable to rid myself of the persisting lump in my throat. Walked
towards the massive master bathroom. The door was ajar. I walked in, nausea
hitting me like a punch to the gut – my throat closed. The smell was
suffocating me.

I
lifted the flashlight, my wrist weak, forcing me to use both hands to do so. I
knew what I was going to find before I even found them, yet I was driven to do
so by something I couldn’t explain.

My
journey was over. I’d found my parents.

Chapter Nineteen

Mom
had always been a neat freak. Dad appeased her only because he grew tired of
her persistent nagging in picking up after himself. So it made sense to see
that they’d shot themselves in the wide bathtub they’d shared. Dad did it,
because the 9mm missing from his gun cabinet was still in his right hand,
across his upraised chin. In the chipped tile, where candles once stood and
mixtures of toiletries were gathered, were pieces of mom.

I
stared at them in silence for the longest time. It felt like I’d just hit a
wall after a desperate sprint, with no way of stopping myself from doing so. A
punch to the face, to the windpipe – I couldn’t even remember how to
breathe, and my eyes stung as I remembered to blink.

Somehow,
I turned away. I dropped the flashlight, but I don’t remember when. I walked
out of the bathroom, and sat at the edge of their king-sized bed. It creaked
and protested, the wooden base squeaking as the box springs settled under my
weight. I wiped my nose and looked around myself. I could smell them –
not as they were in death, but when they were alive. Mom’s talc powder, dad’s
aftershave. Their personal scents. Mom’s robe was lying at the edge of the bed.

They
were in their pajamas. They were in their pajamas, and deep inside, I knew when
they had done it. I wondered what their last conversation was, what it was they
said to each other in their last moments. What had made them decide to end it
before it even began? They didn’t even
try
to survive.
That
was
dad’s way of protecting mom.

I
exhaled slowly, and the sound was massive within the silent room. I could taste
their death in the back of my throat. Everything that I had previously believed
in seemed like an utter lie. Someone had been telling me this entire time that
they were alive and waiting for me. Only that person had been me, so…I wasn’t
sure how to complete that thought.

They
didn’t even wait for me. They had decided that I was done for, and didn’t even
try to -

My
hands were shaking as I picked at my nails. Tore at the cuticles. Stared at
mom’s light pink robe and knew that they’d been dead since the First Night. It
was a slap to the face.

No
faith in my own survival, no faith in that I’d return to them. They’d left
without me. They’d made this choice, far opposite from the one I’d made that
night. I’d chosen to live, to survive Hell to get to them – but they
figured me dead from the start and chose suicide as a way to escape.

It
was not fair. It was unexpected. I’d expected them to be here,
alive
– I made the efforts, why couldn’t they?
They didn’t even try
.

I
blinked heavy eyes, and then laid down, not feeling the coldness of the
blankets, not even registering the creak and groan of the mattress. I stared
out at the darkness and felt absolutely betrayed.

:
:

“Here,
we’re going to need this, too,” Harley said, dropping the last of the ammo
boxes into the backpack I was holding.

I
blinked as the weight registered, fingers tightening around the black straps of
my Sailor Moon backpack, and he emptied the chambers of the SW Revolver that
had been given to dad as a gift a few years earlier. It was bright outside, and
my eyes ached just looking over my shoulder to see the open door of the study.

I
looked at Harley as he frowned at the .44 Magnum that dad had splurged on one
year, spinning the barrel and muttering about green and red sights.

I
could absolutely not recall Harley ever showing up. My hands were adorned with
my favorite North Face gloves, and I was dressed in my thickest snow clothing.
Jesus, when did I
change
? I was wearing my own Adidas messenger bag, and
from the weight of it, it held things I felt I needed. My Ugg boots, made more
for fashion than for strenuous hiking distances, felt comforting and familiar
on my feet.

“Your
dad had some pretty toys, Edith,” he said, and I winced at the sound of his
voice. It was obviously at low volume. It was only the intensity of the
stillness and silence of the area that it seemed so loud.

He
dumped the gun into the bag, checked to make sure he’d had the cabinet cleaned,
and I couldn’t even say anything to let him know I’d checked back into reality.
My mouth felt clenched tight – teeth locked, tongue glued to the roof of
my mouth – I felt like my very ability to interact with life had died the
night I’d found my parents. My limbs felt heavy and locked, and I moved stiffly
as he zipped up the backpack, and indicated for me to slip it on. I did, my
movements uncoordinated, and he helped me adjust it.

It
wasn’t that heavy, but I wanted to collapse from the weight of it. I felt so
weak from the inside out. Worse than being in that pantry. I felt weak from the
feel of his presence and the sound of his voice as he said something that
didn’t even register with me.

I
felt like I was trapped underwater, with how everything then muffled out and my
ears rung. I was viewing everything underneath the weight of the water, hearing
only the rumbles of sound over my head.

What
day was it? Did things even matter, now?

Harley
told me what day it was, a response to a question I didn’t know I’d asked out
loud. In the ringing heaviness of my thoughts, I registered that it had been
nearly four days since I’d left Mendive. “C’mon. Daughtry said he would have
some supplies to spare after we were done here.”

I
registered the name as belonging to a neighbor across the street – a
little old man with a Westie mix that barked at anything that breathed funny. I
wanted to laugh at the thought of this stupid old man with a stupid old dog
living this long in the middle of some apocalypse, while my capable parents had
offed themselves the First Night.

My
mouth didn’t want to move, anyway, incapable of laughing or speaking.

He
took my hand and led me away from the cabinet. I didn’t even register that he
did this until I found myself looking at our linked fingers. It felt
surprisingly natural. With the sureness of his grip, I realized I needed it. I
needed
him. I followed him out of my father’s study, to see the brilliance of the
neighborhood during the height of afternoon. So much snow everywhere. I looked
up at my room, at the ladder I’d fitted against the stark red wall.

He
looked back at me with that squint of his, and I realized vaguely that he was
clean-shaven. His face was bright red from the cold, and he looked exhausted
again. He was wearing his rifle over one shoulder and the rucksack, and this
time equipped with snow boots and a heavier coat with a hood. The knit cap over
his boring brown hair didn’t quite control some of the curls that poked out
around his neckline. God, he looked like such a dork.

I
wanted to hit him for being so persistent and not giving up on me. It felt
unfair that this total stranger could try so hard for me, and my parents, my
wonderful, loving parents, had not even
tried
. My eyes watered, and I
had to blink away the hot tears that threatened to leave them. I didn’t want to
cry in front of him – I didn’t want to cry at all. I was angry and hurt
and I didn’t want to show it to my parents' ghosts.

“Are
you
sure
you have everything?” he asked me, and I had the feeling he’d
asked this before. Did I answer him then?

“I
don’t need anything else,” I heard myself say, but it was an odd feeling to
hear my own voice, to acknowledge that it’d left me. It was hard to speak, and
my mouth moved stiffly, still tight with my feelings.

He
gave me a skeptical look, but continued on towards the back gate. I pulled my
fingers from his and didn’t follow, looking up at my house, at my bedroom and
reliving billions of memories of this house without seeing any individually. My
parents were still in there, dead in the bathtub. Decomposed and
unrecognizable, with parts of each other splayed into the shower walls.

“Edith?”

I
looked at him as he waited for me to join him outside the open gate. Milly
meowed and nearly tripped him as he stepped back from the cat’s persistence.

He
realized I wasn’t about to follow him, so he walked back to where I was
standing. That squinty look was back, like he was trying to figure me out and
he just couldn’t. He waited to see if I’d say anything, and then gave up on
that. He lowered his head, as if by doing so, by peering at me that way, he’d
get the answers he wanted. I’m a short person, and though he’s average sized,
he’s still taller than I am.

Then
he exhaled with a jerky nod, adjusting the rifle. “I get it. You’re in shock.
It’s
okay
.”

“No,
it’s not,” I interrupted, my voice tight. It hurt to talk, but the more I did,
the easier it became. “It’s not
okay
. There’s nothing about this
situation that’s
okay
. My parents are
dead
up there.”

“I
– I know, I saw – I’m sorry. That – but at least it was,
y’know, they weren’t attacked by anything else,” he stammered. “On their own
terms, at least.”

I
stared at him for a few moments, then felt myself start to shake. My hands
curled and loosened, and I had no idea what to do with them. He reached out to
touch me, and I jerked away because I didn’t want his stupid hands anywhere
near me. At this moment, I felt only surging anger and his stupid squinty face
made me want to punch it. I looked at the house, at the sliding back door I’d
tried to open that night. I had no idea what I had been doing between then and
since Harley had arrived.

“Last
night,” he answered, and I felt frustrated at the words I must’ve said, but
missed because I was so upset. “Only because I went up the wrong street. I was
over on the other side of Truckee, near Idlewild? I really have no personal
knowledge of this area at all.”

I
kicked the cat when Milly came over to me, and it yowled, ran off through the
open gate.

“My
entire purpose was getting to my parents,” I said.

“And…you
did. You’re here. You found them. Unfortunately, not as you – you,
y’know, you wanted, but – you found them.”

“I
never expected them to be dead…the
first
night.” I took a deep breath,
struggling to hold back the angry noises that were threatening to erupt. “I
went though Hell to get here and find them, and, here, I find out they’d died
the
first nigh
t.”

“I
– I know. No one – no one could have anticipated that. But…” He
swallowed hard and gave up on trying to say the right thing.

I
stared at the snow-covered yard both of my parents had spent hours attending
to. They were no longer here – I felt cheated.

“They
probably thought I wasn’t going to make it, anyway,” I said slowly, hugging
myself once I registered the cold. I looked at the house again, where I knew
the living room was. Could see perfectly in my mind’s eye the set-up of the
den, the kitchen, the dining room. The leather couch had my imprint on it, on
the middle section where I liked to sprawl and make my parents sit either
together on one end of the sectional, or separately around me.

They
were gone, now. Never to surround me with their presence.

“That’s
why they did it,” I finished. “I wasn’t ever the athletic sort, or even the
type to do something on my own. I…totally get why they’d think that I wouldn’t
even – I’m really mad right now. I don’t know how to accept this.”